Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1)

by Jamie Mayfield

  Poor Carolyn. I was pretty sure she’d never considered the possibility that she was going to have to bathe her nearly-adult foster son one day. I don’t know who was more embarrassed the first time I needed a sponge bath when I came home. It had been disturbing, but we’d made it through, just like we’d made it through everything else.

  Because of where the jacks were, Richard couldn’t bring the computer down to me, so he continued to search for Jamie for me, with no success. It was the end of the first term, ten weeks since Jamie had been whisked away by his parents, and I hadn’t heard a word from him. Idly, I wondered if he knew about my bashing. I hated that term, but there was really no other word for it. They’d beaten me because I was gay.

  I had been bashed.

  I couldn’t imagine that if he’d known, he wouldn’t do anything he could to see if I was okay. It stood to reason that he didn’t know, which meant that wherever he was, he didn’t have access to the news. Mosely and I had been on the front page of quite a few of the local papers, so it might have been at least a minor story elsewhere. The articles had all been fairly neutral, and I’d insisted on reading every one. They reported the facts; none of them had even hinted that I’d brought it on myself. In that article, his family had been quoted as saying that they were “devastated by this tragedy.” Whether that was my tragedy or the fact that their teenage son was now a convicted felon, I wasn’t entirely sure.

  Briefly, I wondered if, had I not been beaten so severely, had I not been in a coma, the coverage might have been different. Maybe Emma would have been on the six o’clock news telling the world how the big bad fags had lied to her and her brother was just settling the score. As it was, none of that had come out. People were appalled by the violence that had taken place in our small town, regardless of its origin.

  “Brian,” Richard said as he and Carolyn came back into the room. Carolyn kept glancing toward Richard, but he looked relaxed, like what they wanted to talk to me about was important but maybe not bad. “Carolyn and I want to talk about you going back to school next month.”

  I nodded. It was inevitable; there was no way the school board would let me continue keeping up from home once I was deemed fit to go to class. I pushed myself up higher in the bed, leaning against the mountain of pillows Carolyn had put there to keep me upright while I got through all my schoolwork. Richard took the chair Kyle had just vacated, while Carolyn sat next to me on top of the faded blue quilt that had once been her mother’s. The conversation was taking on an almost polished, practiced air. They obviously had a plan.

  “Honey, even though Mosely is locked up, we think you might still be in danger at school,” Carolyn said as if she were trying to convince a small child. I just agreed with a nod. Ever since my jaw had been wired shut, I’d found I did that a lot, as it was easier than trying to have a discussion via whiteboard, but in that case, I did agree. His friends and family would hate me because he’d been imprisoned, and they might try to get some payback.

  “We think that you should learn how to defend yourself.” That was probably the last thing I’d expected her to say. I don’t know what I’d thought I was going to hear—“Be more careful,” maybe, or “We’re going to take you to and pick you up from school”—but really, self-defense made more sense. All too soon, I was going to be out in the world on my own, with much more frightening people than Brad Mosely. It only made sense that I would need to learn basic survival skills. The question was, how?

  I looked at Richard, and he must have guessed my question.

  “I’ve been talking to Coach Williams from your school,” Richard said, and immediately I started to shake my head. Carolyn, looking troubled, reached over to the bedside table and grabbed my whiteboard, handing it to me with the marker.

  That guy doesn’t like anyone. He’s an ex-marine or something. I’m sure he’s the “don’t ask don’t tell” type!

  “Actually, he doesn’t care that you’re gay. He pretty much has no opinion on the subject, a true ‘don’t ask don’t tell’. What he does have a problem with is three guys dragging you off and beating the hell out of you. He thinks that’s dishonorable and deplorable. He is, however, very impressed with you,” Richard said with a smile. My brow furrowed, and I erased the whiteboard and replied.

  He’s impressed that I got my ass kicked?

  Richard gave me a stern look, and Carolyn swatted me lightly on my good leg with a laugh. “No, of course not; he’s impressed with you because of your strength. Most people I know, even most adults, would have at the very least given up on school. The fact that you pretty much told them all to go to hell and are still working to graduate is impressive, son.” I was slightly embarrassed by his praise. That wasn’t really what I was doing at all. I was just trying to survive long enough to go find my gay lover. I wondered if Coach would still be as impressed if he knew.

  So, what is he going to teach me? Secret CIA Black Ops anti-terror techniques?

  At that, Richard and Carolyn both busted up laughing. I grinned, and Carolyn took my hand while Richard just shook his head.

  “You watch entirely too much television,” he chuckled. “Do you know the Meiyo Dojo over on Third Street?”

  I nodded.

  “Coach Williams runs it, and I’ve signed you up for classes. You’ll also have some private lessons with him.”

  I couldn’t say the prospect was unattractive, since I would love to have the knowledge and ability to keep guys from putting me back in the hospital. I just wasn’t all that sure Coach Williams was as selfless as he’d made himself sound to the Schreibers.

  Can I think about it? I want to talk to Kyle.

  Richard looked puzzled but didn’t argue. Lying back against the pillows, I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was exhausted. It was going to be an early night for me, and I promised myself I would get some of the homework done over the weekend. Writing on the whiteboard again, I caught Richard’s attention.

  Can I have a pain pill?

  “Are you hurting?” Richard asked, concerned. I hadn’t asked for a pain pill in a few days, but I really wanted to sleep and not wake up every fifteen minutes because I couldn’t get comfortable. Nodding, I lay back, and he went into the kitchen to get some juice for me to take it with. Carolyn stood up and pulled some of the pillows from behind me so I could lie down. When I was comfortable, well, relatively comfortable, she brushed my hair out of my eyes.

  “You need a haircut.” Her voice was affectionate as she ran her fingers through my hair. Again, I nodded, because that was far easier than any other generic response that would require me to move.

  Mercifully, Richard was back, and I took the pain medication. Being the son of a doctor had its benefits, and before I could open my eyes again to thank them, I was asleep.

  16

  A LOUD, jarring rap on the front door startled me out of the dream I’d been having. Jamie and I had been having a relaxing picnic in the woods near the school, just him and me, laughing and talking and eating sandwiches under a tree. In the dream, I’d been spending time with Jamie without the pressure of having to worry about how every movement, every word would be perceived by others. There was no possible way we would chance anything sexual in that kind of setting, so that expectation was also gone. It was just a happy, light, carefree day. One I wished to God we’d had more of.

  “Can I help you?” I heard Carolyn ask, and I looked up at the door. I had a perfect view of it from my makeshift living room-bedroom. The man was tall and lanky with lifeless, dingy brown hair. Over Carolyn’s shoulder, his gaze shifted around the room through thick, round glasses that magnified his huge eyes. From a distance, I couldn’t tell if they were brown or gray, but they were narrowed and shrewd. He could have been in his early thirties, but with the rounded, childish, almost petulant face, he appeared younger.

  “My name is Jeremiah Hascomb. I’m from Alabama State Child and Welfare, and I need to come in and speak with you and with Brian McAllister,” he said in a lo
w, brusque voice made a little less official by the heavy twang. My insides went stone cold. They couldn’t possibly blame the Schreibers for what had happened to me, because that little nightmare was all Brad Mosely. Then a truly disturbing thought occurred to me: what if the Schreibers had called them, sick of having to deal with me? They seemed okay about me being gay, but so much had happened….

  “Brian is sleeping right now, and my husband will be home after four. Would you mind coming back then?” Carolyn asked pleasantly, but having lived with her for so long, I could hear the nervous strain in her voice. It was obvious that Richard and Carolyn hadn’t called, that Carolyn had no idea why the man was at our home. An ice-cold sliver of real fear stabbed at my stomach.

  “No, Mrs. Schreiber, I’m afraid I can’t. A serious allegation has been made concerning the boy, and I really must investigate it now. His safety is my only concern here.” His words made it sound like he was concerned, but the tone of his voice was almost bullying. It pissed me off, him talking to Carolyn like that. For all intents and purposes, she was my mother. She deserved better than to be bullied by this toad of a man.

  “What kind of allegation?” Carolyn asked in a whisper, breathless and shocked.

  “I’m afraid I cannot discuss that with you until I’ve spoken to the child.” The child? I was going to be eighteen in less than a year, for God’s sake; just leave me the hell alone. It was a safe bet he was there because I was gay, immoral, and wrong. Such a big deal had been made about my attack in the news; maybe there was some kind of pressure on them about my placement.

  “We usually deal with Mrs. Dillon regarding our foster children. Is she not available?” Carolyn asked as she stepped aside to let Mr. Hascomb in. Her posture indicated to me that she was reluctant to do so, but she really had no other option. He had been edging around her and was determined to get into our home.

  “I have spoken to Mrs. Dillon, and she speaks highly of you, but sometimes with their case loads, they don’t always know the whole story,” he replied harshly, his eyes still scanning the room, finally coming to rest on me. I knew what I must look like to him: an abused child. However, unless he’d been living under a rock for the previous few weeks, he would have to know that Richard and Carolyn hadn’t been the ones who had hurt me.

  “Hello, you must be Brian. My name is Jeremiah. How are you doing?” he asked, and his voice was falsely bright and with a tone that you would use with a very small child. He was also frowning as he looked me over, taking note of all my injuries. Then he took a notebook out of his bag and began to jot down notes.

  I’m doing okay.

  I wrote on the board, wishing for the millionth time I could speak, because I was desperate for him to understand that Richard and Carolyn were taking good care of me. I had no idea what was going on, but the fear had solidified into a rock-hard ball in my stomach, a fear that lately seemed to be a constant in my life.

  “I was wondering if we could talk for a few minutes.” His inflections made his words come out as a statement rather than a question, meaning that I really had no choice in the matter. With anyone else I might have made a joke about not being able to talk, but he didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, so instead I just nodded. It would be best to put on a friendly face, even though I had no option but to talk to him. I knew that while I lived with the Schreibers and they took care of me, they didn’t have custody of me—the state of Alabama did.

  “Mrs. Schreiber, I’d like to talk to Brian alone,” Mr. Hascomb told Carolyn brusquely, turning to give her a pointed look. She went a little pale, which did nothing to help the panic that was building in my chest. The few times I’d ever seen any kind of “investigator,” I’d been taken away. Judging by Carolyn’s reaction, it wasn’t something that had ever happened to her and Richard.

  “I’ll go and call Richard,” she said, wringing her hands, not making any moves toward the kitchen where the phone was. When Mr. Hascomb cleared his throat after a minute, Carolyn realized she hadn’t moved and walked slowly out of the room. It felt almost like it was against every one of her instincts to leave me alone with him, but she had no choice.

  Her helplessness, her fear, made a hot wave of rage course through me.

  After he’d finished jotting yet another note into his notebook, Mr. Hascomb turned to me with a forced smile.

  “I’m here to help you, Brian, but in order to do that I need for you to tell me the truth. Do you understand?”

  No, I don’t. I have no idea why you’re here.

  I wrote patiently on the whiteboard and then showed it to him.

  “How do you get along with your foster father?” the social worker asked.

  I get along with him fine. He’s a good father. Why?

  I replied, not wanting to elaborate since I didn’t know what any of this was about. He didn’t elaborate either.

  “What kinds of things do you do together?”

  We talk.

  “That’s it?”

  We play freaking chess. What is it that you want to know?

  “Has he ever touched you or held you in a way that made you feel uncomfortable?”

  And there it was. They thought Richard was molesting me. They thought he’d made me gay. Oh my God, it was all my fault. They were going to take me away, and I’d be at the mercy of any teenager or adult in the system all because I’d been happy with Jamie, been myself with him for one goddamn summer.

  “No!” I cried through my wired jaw. “No!” I said again for emphasis to make sure that he had heard me.

  Carolyn came into the room then, the phone still in her hand.

  “Brian, are you okay?” she asked, and I could feel the fear in her voice, which did nothing to help my overwhelming panic.

  They want to take me away! They think Richard is molesting me!

  I wrote frantically on the board. Carolyn came over and sat on my bed next to me. She put her hands on my face, trying to calm me down.

  “Brian, you need to calm down. Darlin’, your jaw is still wired; you don’t want to hurt yourself. Please… sweetheart….” She stroked my face until my breathing was under control, and then she sat holding my hand. When she turned back to Mr. Hascomb, her eyes were pure fire.

  “Who made this outrageous accusation against my husband?” she demanded, her face set and her brows contracted. Her rigid posture and the faint trembling in her hands made it plain as day to me, if not to him, that she was furious.

  “I cannot give you that information,” he said, trying to remain outwardly cool and calm even though the sheen of sweat on his forehead gave away his nerves.

  “You walk into my house, accuse my husband of molesting our son, and threaten to—”

  He stood, cutting her off with a hand held up in her face. “He’s not your son; he’s your foster placement. You never made any moves to adopt him. Brian, I need to take you to the local hospital for an examination.”

  I can’t walk.

  He wasn’t going to take me without a fight. For all I knew, an examination was just an excuse to get me out of the house, and I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. With the hip cast, transporting me anywhere would not be easy. Richard had only taken me into the hospital when he absolutely needed to; otherwise all my care was done at home.

  Mr. Hascomb pulled a cell phone from his suit pants pocket and dialed.

  “Hi, Daisy, this is Jeremiah Hascomb. We spoke earlier?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk. “Yes, I’m going to need that ambulance and Detective Miller. Yes, that’s the address. Thank you.”

  As he put his phone back in his pocket with a slight smile, I realized I was starting to hate the stupid little toad of a man even more than Mosely. He was enjoying this. Terrorizing the teenage fag must have given him quite a charge. I wanted to knock that smile right off his face, but of course, that would just make things ten times worse.

  “You need to pack him clothes for a few days,” Hascomb said, looking at Carolyn. “I am eff
ecting an emergency removal of the minor child. He will be examined by a physician and kept in the state facility until we can determine the best place for him, whether that is here, in a state facility, or with another family.” Carolyn squeezed my hand and looked down at me.

  “It’s going to be okay, Brian,” she said softly, her voice trembling and unconvincing.

  Do I have to go with him? I asked, imploring, suddenly terrified, feeling every bit the child I still was. My heavy gasps forced harshly through my bound teeth, the air whistling as the panic consumed me. I could almost hear my heart pounding in my healing ribcage. The frantic thoughts raced one another around my head. They were taking me away. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t fight them, I couldn’t even talk, much less defend myself. Once they got me out, what reason would they have to bring me back and let me stay with Richard and Carolyn? I loved them, and they were the only ones on Earth, besides Jamie, who loved me back.

  A shocked, agonized whimper forced itself from me, a piteous sound like a wounded, cornered animal would make.

  A muffled sniffle, almost a sob, came from Carolyn as she went up the stairs to pack for me. That was when I really got scared. Carolyn did everything for me, right down to helping me in the shower. State homes were notoriously understaffed with harsh, underpaid workers who weren’t interested in caring for an invalid kid. Those kids got sent to special homes, where I had heard the going was even rougher.

  Carolyn came down just a few minutes later. She seemed to understand that I didn’t want to be left alone with the horrible man. When I saw that she carried the small rolling suitcase Richard usually took to conferences he was required to attend, I couldn’t hold back the choked sob. I had no idea if she knew it was going to be a comfort to me or if it was just functional, but if she was sending something Richard needed, she expected it to come back, and with any luck at all, I’d come back with it. After she set the suitcase next to my bed, she grabbed the novel I’d been reading and put it in the front zipper.